A Surprisingly Pleasant Unfamiliarity
by dustygun
Summary: "Didn't he promise himself six months ago that he wouldn't go and act like a pathetically whipped  pansy in front of this girl? He was an i-di-ot." A conversation in the library turns unexpectedly sentimental for a couple of Head students.


A bang could be heard in the library (in the corner near the arithmancy section) as a pencil tin with eight legs and antennae thwarted a talking crawling notebook, blowing it up and causing it to erupt before disappearing. This was the fifth bang in the short period of time since James Potter had joined Lily Evans in commencing studies in this corner, and the fifth time that a walking and talking stationary item of Lily Evans' had been effectively squashed and eradicated.

"Alright, I give up!" she sighed loudly, bringing her head to the table to rest in her arms after fifteen minutes of solid concentration and competition.

"Sorry Evans?" he asked, smirking at her frazzled expression and hair all over the desk, "you've given up?"

"Yes!" she cried, lifting her head, features a mix of distress and exhaustion, "yes, yes, yes! I give up! You win!" She waved her arms all over the place before using them to cover her face once more.

He laughed. Well, internally. He supposed the girl was embarrassed enough as it was. So he left it at an arrogant lip quirk. He lowered his head to rest his chin on the table, forcing her to lift her own and make eye contact.

"I win, did you say?" he repeated slowly, emphasising each word to make her squirm, for it was awfully adorable when she squirmed.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed to a squint, "You can be a bitch, did you know?"

He only leant back in his chair and laughed. Out loud, this time.

"Naw Evans, don't be so bitter," he teased, rumpling her hair. This only issued him a glare and a grunt as she hid her head on the table once more.

When he realised she wasn't planning on resurfacing from the desk any time soon, he chuckled and picked up his quill, continuing the potions work he had started two minuted prior to the outbreak of their match of whose-piece-of-enchanted-stationary-can-destroy-the-other (which James had won, 5-0).

He watched the girl sleep on the desk, probably due to the exhaustion from both their little game of magical wit (she hadn't had the experience he had of playing Sirius with particularly violent charms, and so he, focusing half the amount that she was, had won easily), and the stress that the ever approaching N.E.W.T exams were already having. That, and the added pressures of her Head Girlship, and the goodness knows how other many activities she liked to sign up for.

He rumpled her hair again, though this time more of a –pat? – as to not seem too, er, intimate, in seeking her attention. She lifted her head again, eyes still fixed in a (mock) angry glare.

"Yes sir?" she inquired coldly, raising one arched eye brow.

"Are you, er, alright, Evans?" he asked awkwardly, running a hand through his hair in the process. He half winced at the way that supposed-to-be aloof inquiry had come out.

Her gaze softened, and she sent a half hearted smile back at him, emitting a small chuckle, "yeah I'm alright Potter, why do you ask? Are you alright?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Now what kind of conversation had he gotten himself into? Stupid, he thought. Where did he _think _a question like that would get him? Dammit.

"Erm, I just thought, that, I dunno, I mean you looked tired, I was just thinking, maybe you were.." he trailed off pathetically, cursing himself all the way. "Uh, stressed.. or worried.. yeah," he ended lamely, really wincing this time, pulling out his hair with the hand already there as a form of self punishment.

She surprised him when, instead of laughing at his foolishness, she acknowledged his attempt at displaying concern, "I suppose so, yeah. We always knew this year was going to be busy right? Of course we did. But it's not the business and stresses of school and such.. I don't know, I guess that just after all the stuff that happened over the break, and that's been happening outside school, heck, even _in_ school, I feel the need to.. I don't know.. prove myself? And with all that pressure I'm scared that I won't be able to and I'll just be a big joke." She had sat up fully in her chair by this point, but wasn't looking at him, rather something just above and to the left of his shoulder, and a – was it shameful? – expression had crossed over her face.

When he didn't reply (due to the shock of her honesty, and to _him_, especially), she must have thought he thought her daft, for she tried to cover up the extent of her opening up. She shrugged, seemingly nonchalant but not altogether believable. "But it's all kind of silly yeah? Mountain out of a molehill and all that," she was mumbling now, rambling, tidying up papers to give her somewhere to look.

He looked at her, really looked at her. The way that her eyes _did_ in fact show shame, shame at having such a plain and rightful desire for approval, and that she genuinely didn't think she would achieve it. How determined she was to prove herself, to do something, to help people, people like herself who were copping such a hard time at the moment.

His continued silence and gazing strangely at her began to make her squirm, and it was the adorable notion that again bought him out of his thoughts. "Nah," he said (accidently) loudly, cutting off her mumbles. She looked up at him innocently, catching his eyes.

He was determined to hold her gaze, choosing his next words carefully, as to not make a bigger moron out of himself. "Listen, I, er, think that.." he began uncertainly, struggling to find a reply. "I don't think what your saying is stupid at all!" he blurted out rashly, passionately, (stupidly), as to not let her misinterpret his delay as condescension. So much for not being an idiot.

She looked at him searchingly, almost desperately, as if seeking his, _his,_ reassurance. Inspiration suddenly struck him. "Look Evans, I think you're brilliant. Plain and straight. You're smart, you're talented, you have, and do, achieve so much, and you work bloody hard to as well. You're kind, you call people out on their crap, you don't take shit, and still you're one of the nicest and kindest people I know. And anyone who doesn't or can't see that needs a good kick up the ass for being oblivious, because if anyone has proven themselves, and deserves the approval of others, then Merlin it's you! I mean-" He caught himself there, and realising he wasn't thinking to himself, but had a live audience, made up of the subject of his tirade herself, he felt a warmth spreading up his neck, no doubt staining his cheeks at least faintly red.

Didn't he promise himself six months ago that he _wouldn't _go and act like a pathetically whipped pansy in front of this girl? He could imagine Sirius cracking his whip right now. He was an i-di-ot.

"Erm.. yeah," He concluded, both hands tearing out his hair this time. Merlin, he was a prize fool wasn't he? If Hagrid had come into the library that moment, asking for people to volunteer as dragon's dinner, he would have happily marched along and let a horntail digest him.

He decided to give himself a kick under the table, just for good measure.

Only he didn't kick himself, but the dainty pair of legs sitting opposite him. He had forgotten how small the table was.

"Oh!" Lily gave a little jump at the rough gesture, and he looked up to find her blushing a rather fantastic shade of pink, clashing quite spectacularly with her dark red hair. She was looking down at her hands, a small, pleased smile playing at her lips.

An awkward silence greeted them both, with Lily playing with her fingers, and James still trying to pull his damned hair out.

After a moment, James thought he should try and soften his earlier bluntness, and so cleared his throat. "Uh, Eva-"

"Po- James."

The use of his first name by the good looking red head threw him off. His hands momentarily forgot their job in making him bald and rested stationary mid hair-pull.

"James," she repeated, the name obviously new to her too, "I, er – um, thanks. Yeah, thanks alot for, mm," it was her turn to stutter now, "saying what you, uh, just said. Yeah, it means alot to me and.. yeah."

As embarrassed as he was himself, he couldn't help but quirk his lips proudly at his ability to make her stumble over words. Deciding to throw caution to the wind and further the uncomfortably awkward and honest turn that their previously playful conversation had taken, he stammered over the next few sentences that came bluntly from his mouth.

"I mean it you know. You really are brilliant.. special, if you will." He allowed himself to give her a small smile at this, hoping that his genuineness showed.

It must have, because her cheeks became even redder than before. She laughed as well, also revelling in the strangeness and unfamiliarity of this new sort of dialogue. "You're quite an alright bloke, you know Potter," she smiled.

"What have I been trying to tell you, Evans? I'm not all fifty shades of horrible you know," he tried to joke, but it seemed to resonate with her because she just let out an "mm" and gazed thoughtfully downward. Dammit, he cursed to himself.. as soon as things were lightening up a touch.

She looked up at him, eyes bright, "I suppose you win again there," she conceded, an unusual expression still occupying her features.

"What can I say? Perhaps I obtain some of your brilliance too, eh?" he responded with a nervous chuckle. She raised her eyebrows and swatted his arm lightly, which had now come to rest, more relaxed, near her own on the table.

This seemed to ease all tension, for conversation soon steered back to normal territory: joking, quipping, teasing. But he didn't think he was mistaken in thinking there was something slightly different about it this time, something different in the way she looked at and regarded him; the way that each subtle and accidental compliment given seemed to resonate with her and make her blush, as did the way he would sometimes stop and admire her when she laughed. And, _if_ he wasn't mistaken, (which he didn't think he was), she seemed to look at _him_ a bit more as well, almost stare if you will. He'd be lying if he didn't say that the thought made him kind of giddy.

After he excused himself for quidditch practice half an hour later, potions essay completed and diposition cheery after an hour spent with good company, he couldn't help feel more than a _tad_ optimistic as to the future possible nature of his relationship with this said enjoyable company. Grinning quite goofily as he walked out of the library with a bouncier step than that which he walked into it with, for once he thought _maybe, _just maybe, he had a real chance at Lily Evans.


End file.
